


your eyes, my hands

by suhoya



Series: the dark side of the moon [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 5 Times, Alternate Universe, Blindness, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 02:40:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4770470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suhoya/pseuds/suhoya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times Kuroo makes Tsukishima forget he’s blind, and one time he doesn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your eyes, my hands

**Author's Note:**

> blind tsukki is something i wanted to write eventually (and more kurotsuki in general), i wish it was longer but i didn’t want to risk it bc then it would lie in my drafts forever.
> 
> there’s care and touching and kissing and feelings, if it makes up for the angsty part?

 

 **i**.

Tsukishima trusted his hands more than anything in his life. His hearing was very sharp, too, but his hands were definitely a much better mirror of the world.

At least when it came to Kuroo.

“It’s black _black_ ,” he was saying as if one adjective weren’t enough. “Which matches perfectly with your blonde, if you ask me.”

Tsukishima was touching Kuroo’s hair.

Because Kuroo described himself too highly, too pompous, and that couldn’t be true. It’s not like Tsukishima really cared whether he was really that handsome or not. That was completely out from his thoughts – he just needed to check by himself for scientific evidence… or something like that.

It was impossible to know its colour, of course, but the evidence showed it was very soft, right from the roots till the ends. Not too short but certainly longer than his own. Tsukishima really couldn’t make out his hairstyle though – one side seemed to point upwards, slightly spiked but with no traces of dried gel, as if that was nature’s doing, maybe. The other side was more flattened.

He sank his fingers, running them around his scalp, slowly, feeling Kuroo’s hair brush against his skin, leaving pleasurable, smooth tickles over the back of his hands.

“I’m going to doze off if you keep doing that,” Kuroo muttered in his hoarse, _too-relaxed-I’m-in-heaven_ voice. Tsukishima was starting to efficiently differentiate and classify them.

“Then do it. I like you more when you’re not talking.”

Kuroo laughed instead.

“Can I lie down at least?”

The grass in which they were sitting was certainly alluring enough. Tsukishima nodded, and he sensed Kuroo leaning backwards and dropping his head on his lap.

Tentatively, he touched again on his scalp, making out the correct position of his face.

(He hadn’t touched Kuroo’s face yet. He wanted to.)

(His hands were his eyes. He wanted to _see_ Kuroo.)

It started by the end of his bangs. One second he was tracing the thin threads of hair, and the other he felt warm, bare skin. Kuroo’s forehead was wide and thick. About an inch lower, Tsukishima felt the short hairs of his eyebrows lie still. His muscles were lax – he wasn’t frowning.

(Did Kuroo frown, ever?)

Carefully, he continued tracing his fingers down, one thumb all over the bridge of his nose. It was long and a little pointy at the end.

Unintentionally –but rather naturally- his palms spread all over his cheeks, touching all the skin they could. His fingertips landed on unexpected cheekbones. The skin was slightly more delicate underneath his eyes, where timid prickles of eyelashes poked against his curious fingers.

Tsukishima followed down his cheeks again, cupping the lines of his jaw – strong and elegant. His chin was also a bit pointy, and he rubbed circles around it while wondering if he should go past the crease above.

He realized he did once his thumbs met moist skin which was even softer than the rest of his face.

Kuroo’s lips – they weren’t very thick, at least not the upper one. But the lower one felt like touching jelly. He stroked left to right, right to left. With his thumb, with his index finger. With one and then with both at the same time.

He wanted to know every millimeter of Kuroo’s lips. He didn’t want to miss a single patch, a single wrinkle.

When he stopped at the corners of his mouth, he could tell Kuroo was smiling—actually, no, it was more of a smirk. His puffed right cheek gave it away.

Tsukishima didn’t smirk. He smiled.

“Are you done?” Kuroo’s question came out as a whisper.

Tsukishima’s left hand trailed down Kuroo’s neck, touching one last time before backing away, but Kuroo caught it by the wrist as soon as Tsukishima’s palm left his skin.

Kuroo held his hand gently and guided it towards him. Tsukishima touched fabric this time –cotton?- and sensed a thud.

 _Thud, thud, thud_.

Kuroo spread his hand on top of Tsukishima’s, pressing them against his chest.

Kuroo’s heartbeat. Tsukishima could feel it.

He could see it.

“My heart is telling you a secret.”

Tsukishima’s own heart seemed to respond to that.

 _Thud, thud, thud_.

(It was like a race had started.)

“I can keep that secret,” he replied.

 _(Thud, thud, thud_. Fast, closer to the end goal.)

“Then I can finally do this.”

And Tsukishima felt Kuroo’s gentle grip on his hand, and with a swift swing, his hand touched his lips again.

Kuroo kissed the back of his hand.

He inhaled deeply, and when the air flowed out three seconds later, he pressed another kiss on his trembling skin.

And another, and another, and another.

On his knuckles, on his palm, on his sensitive fingertips.

When there was no more new skin left to kiss, Kuroo entwined their hands together, and placed them on his upper chest, under his jaw, hiding them against his neck.

Tsukishima felt Kuroo’s face nuzzle against him, getting closer in his lap, searching for more of him.

His empty hand found his way back to Kuroo’s hair.

Kuroo seemed to like it.

Tsukishima liked it, too.

 

(He had seen Kuroo and, indeed, he was beautiful.)

 

 

 **ii**.

The best thing about kissing is that you do it with your eyes closed.

 

 

He remembers the first time Kuroo kissed him. It was both expected and unexpected. Expected, in the way that they both knew they liked each other, so it was a matter of time or situation that it would eventually lead to it. Unexpected, because Tsukishima, evidently, didn’t see it coming.

He had thought of doing it first, when Kuroo whispered next to his ear, but the truth was that Tsukishima was afraid their faces would bump awkwardly. That he wouldn’t know _where_ or _how_ to kiss efficiently. Normally. _Naturally_.

Because he wasn’t like the majority of people, and he couldn’t act as easily as them.

So perhaps that’s why Kuroo did it without warning – to make him realize that none of that matters when it comes to kissing.

Because Tsukishima literally forgot he even had eyes at all, as useless as they were.

Because lips aren’t supposed to be observed. They aren’t supposed to be touched with his skillful fingertips, either – although that was a nice start.

Because lips are made to be kissed, and if they are Kuroo’s, they are made to be kissed without warning.

They’re a magical thing, Kuroo’s lips – they adapt perfectly to Tsukishima’s, they find the correct angle without even thinking or trying. They press tenderly against each other’s; he feels the warm moist, the almost-jelly-like smooth sensation now printed on his own. He _knows_ Kuroo is grinning – his lips are stretching and his mouth opens hopelessly. The picture of a triumphant Kuroo pops in his mind.

“Stop blushing, Tsukki,” he whispers very close to his mouth, cockily.

Tsukishima smirks.

“ _You_ are blushing.”

He grabs Kuroo by the face, lifting his hands up and cupping his cheeks – and considering the heat they irradiate, Tsukishima knows he isn’t wrong.

He feels Kuroo’s lips pursing like a child’s, a couple lines of thin muscles around his mouth creasing near his thumbs.

“You got me,” he confesses in an amused sort of defeat.

Tsukishima leans closer, bringing their foreheads together.

“I’m glad I do.”

 

 

 

The second time it was different. There was hunger, passion, complicity.

Their lips already knew each other, but they went past their first innocent meeting. They were eager to know more, to explore everything about the other.

Not only their lips, but also their tongues wanted to touch, not able to hold back. Their hands, travelling up and down each other’s necks, napes, shirt’s collars.

Kuroo’s hair always stayed wild and mussed, and Tsukishima’s hands liked to sink and trail around, his pale fingers swimming and clawing in Kuroo’s black ocean.

 

 

Of all things, Tsukishima thanked that in kissing he was able to forget.

 

 

 **iii**.

Soon enough, Tsukishima realized how his hands always yearned for Kuroo. When they came in contact with Kuroo’s skin, it was like a heavy wave of warmth, light, energy flowed in his veins.

 

Kuroo’s back was the perfect canvas for his hands. Tsukishima found how wide and muscled it was, and as he traced his fingers down his spine, the only thing he wanted was to go up again.

He wanted to memorize it all, to draw that picture in his mind that would last for decades. The poking bones in his shoulders, the spiking spine, the curve of his waist.

The way his shoulder blades shifted when he reached for him, extending his arm over to grab his face from behind and meet his mouth.

Tsukishima had lost himself on a new world to kiss. Pressing soft pecks on Kuroo’s neck that made him squirm and hum lowly with pleasure. Drawing a sinuous path down his back with his lips, arms laced around his body and craving for even more skin.

Kuroo’s hands were clutched on his, tightly around his abdomen. Tsukishima thanked how Kuroo let him wander on his body as much as he pleased, for long minutes, until he had _seen_ enough.

 

(Though the truth was he would never see enough.)

 

Kuroo doesn’t need to touch his face to have a clear picture, but he does anyways.

Tsukishima doesn’t know up until that moment how Kuroo must have felt when he touched him instead.

He wants Kuroo to touch him as much as he wants to touch Kuroo.

Kuroo’s fingers graze his cheeks, the line of his profile, the curve of his jaw.

Kuroo’s lips kiss his closed eyes, delicately.

“Now kiss me,” Kuroo breathes, noses poking against each other, and his voice melting into Tsukishima’s lips, “until you see what I see.”

And Tsukishima does.

 

 

 **iv**.

“Tsukki, do you remember when we first met?”

That wasn’t a suitable question for a Sunday morning when the drowsiness was still present in Tsukishima’s brain. However, that was a nice memory, and that could beat any trace left of sleep.

“You were apologizing all the time. For saying things like ‘ _Look!_ ’ and ‘ _See?_ ’ It took you a while.”

Kuroo chuckled the way Tsukishima loved. A short laugh that was more like a happy breath, warming his heart at once.

“I still do that, sometimes,” he said, moving his hand across the mattress to meet Tsukishima’s.

“I know. And I like it.”

“Why?” Tsukishima’s open palm didn’t resist to Kuroo’s hold, much less when his thumb began to draw circles around his skin caringly.

“It makes me forget. I don’t want to be treated differently,” and before Kuroo could open his mouth, he added, “I know it’s impossible. But still.”

Kuroo’s grip tightened, and Tsukishima heard him shift on the bed and leaning in, closer.

“You see, Tsukki, the moon is only seen in the dark. The dark is what makes you powerful. Let me be that dark. Let me make you glow. I’ll be the _black_ to your _moon_.”

Tsukishima wondered if they were meant to be. If they were supposed to meet like this, to fall in love, to fit into each other’s lives so effortlessly. He didn’t believe in those things and probably he never would.

But Kuroo certainly made things a lot easier to believe.

 

 

 **iv + i**.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen, after probably the most ecstatic match of the competition, we finally have our winners... A big congratulations to Nekoma!”

 

The public went wild with enthusiasm.

 

Tsukishima wished he could see him. If he could choose to see only one thing, only one thing in all his life, it would be that, right there, right in that moment.

 

Was he looking his way? Was he screaming, too? Was he jumping with joy? Was he laughing? Was he crying?

 

He couldn’t know. He wouldn’t know, ever.

 

He could only hear the uproar of the people around him, the cheers, the loud speakers. Everyone shouting, moving, talking, breathing.

 

(Watching.)

 

Everything turned into a distant buzz in his ears.

(He couldn’t hear his voice.)

 

His hands closed into fists.

(He couldn’t touch what he longed for.)

 

His heart plummeted somewhere low and deep.

(And dark and black.)

 

Because the most undeniable truth was that the moon would never be seen in the striking light of day.

 

**Author's Note:**

> :( i didn’t want to end it with the angst but it was the only way (??). but hey they’re meant to be. they’re happy together. they love each other to death. that’s over anything else, isn’t it.
> 
> thanks a lot _lot_ for reading  <3


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